Catch and Release
by poestheblackcat
Summary: Futurefic. Ben Braeden grew up to be a cop. Guess who got arrested for using classic rock aliases? Spoilers for "The Kids Are Alright."


AN: I should be writing a paper for English right now, but I can't help it. I'm addicted to fanfic. Spoilers for "The Kids are Alright." Set about 15-20 years in the future.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

**Catch and Release**

He'd been stuck here for hours, sitting handcuffed at a table in the middle of a bleak interrogation room in a freakin' police station in a freakin' little town in freakin' Indiana. Indiana sucked. He freakin' hated Indiana.

Dean snorted as he leaned back in the hard metal chair and drummed out the rhythm of his thirtieth Metallica song on the cold metal slab before him. He bet Sam was sitting alone in his own interview room somewhere else in this facility. And fuming.

Dean would have bet his car that Sammy was now thinking up a million ways to tell him, "I told you so." Well, maybe not his baby, but you know. Sam always did have a thing about Dean's habit of using classic rock aliases.

"Dude, you know we'll get caught some day," he'd lecture in his whiny know-it-all way. And damn if the little bitch wasn't right.

Dean huffed. In the thirty years, give or take a few, that he'd been in the identity fraud business (ever since Dad had let him fill out his first credit card application form, anyway), they'd only been caught three times—and this was the third.

Just their Winchester luck that the puny little deputy at the front desk of the police station, whom they'd needed to interview for their current case, knew his classic rock and had therefore arrested them.

Dean scowled, but looked up and pasted on his trademark smirk as the door to the room opened to let in a dark-haired young man in his early twenties. There was no expression in his sharp brown eyes as he stood in front of Dean and crossed his arms.

Dean raised an eyebrow at him. "So what, they're sendin' in kids now? What happened to all the old fogies who used to work in these police stations? They keel over from too much coffee and donuts?" He grinned a challenge at the impassive young man.

The kid only raised an eyebrow in return and leaned over the table, his hands wide apart on the smooth surface. Face barely a foot away from Dean's, he continued to watch him for any changes in his expression as he said, "Dean Winchester, in the flesh," drawing out the name in a low drawl. "You've been on the FBI's Most Wanted list since 2006. I gotta say, that's a helluva long time ago."

Dean smiled slow and said, "Aw shucks, kid. No need to go around shooting off compliments like that." He put his elbows on the desk and moved his face closer to the policeman's, invading his personal space. His smile dangerous now, he drawled, "What do you say we skip the bullshit and get down to the good part?"

He leaned back in his chair again, moving slowly and smoothly to settle down in the position, visibly seeming at ease, but in reality and to the close observer, snapping with tension. "So are you 'good cop' or 'bad cop', kid?"

The younger man simply straightened up and looked at him some more, crossing his arms again. And smirked. Once again, there was no expression in his eyes, but Dean had the feeling that the kid knew something he didn't know. Dean simply gazed back.

The fluorescent lights buzzed and flickered, creating sharp shadows across both men's faces. Neither of them moved. Time passed, quickly or slowly, Dean couldn't tell, but he did know that the brown stare was making him a bit antsy, something that hadn't happened to him in a while. It was as if the kid seriously did know something he didn't, and it was pissing him off.

The staring contest lasted until the door opened again and a nerdy-looking blond man with glasses poked his head in and spoke to the guy. "Braeden. Sheriff wants to talk to you." That said, he whisked back out after shooting a scared look at Dean.

Dean blinked. _Braeden?_ He glanced back at the kid, Braeden, and realized—hey, he'd lost the staring contest—when he saw the twinkle in the brown depths and the tightening at the corners of the full mouth.

Them—Bam!—it struck him. Braeden. _Ben_ Braeden, Lisa Braeden's son, who Dean had last seen—damn, how many years ago was it?—around his eighth birthday after saving him from changelings. Ben. Dark-haired, brown-eyed, cocky, protective Ben Braeden had grown up to be a cop. Huh. Whaddayaknow.

As all this flashed through his mind, he had continued staring up at the young man in front of him. Dean knew the kid had seen it, all of it, when he smirked even more and leaned down close again, hand braced against the table. He said in a voice too low to be heard by anyone else but them, "Good cop."

Then he straightened back up again and strolled out of the room without another glance at the stunned man at the table in the middle of the room.

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Ben walked up to Deborah, the police station's secretary, shooting a charming smile at her as he perched himself on the edge of her desk. "Hey there, beautiful. You're looking absolutely stunning today. Is that a new sweater?"

The matronly brunette blushed and swatted his shoulder with a pen. "Now, you stop that, Ben Braeden. I know your type and I sure ain't it. Besides, I'm happily married and I'm much too old for you," she scolded playfully.

Ben grinned. "Aww, you know I only go out with those other girls because I can't have you. Your husband doesn't know how lucky he is. And you're not too old for me. You're a regular Mrs. Robinson, Debbie."

Deborah huffed and rolled her eyes in false exasperation as she picked up the phone. "Get your cute little patootie off my desk afore I tell your momma you've been seducing all the women at the station." She turned her attention to the phone. "Sheriff, Detective Braeden's here…Alright."

"You can go in, now," she told Ben, who blew her a kiss before slipping off of the desk and sauntered to the sheriff's office.

"Later, gorgeous," he drawled as he opened the door.

Sheriff Edwards glanced up as the handsome young man walked in. He sighed. Braeden was one of his best and brightest men as well as the bravest, but he was too much of a lady's man for his own good sometimes. His good looks and charming manner had his female employees all of a twitter which sometimes made it hard to get work done.

He motioned for Braeden to sit down. "Well?" he asked? "Get anything?"

The young man grimaced. "Nope. Not a word. At least, I got nothing that wasn't sarcastic out of either of 'em. I swear, I am completely convinced that those two are brothers. They don't look anything alike, but man…" He shook his head.

Edwards nodded in sympathy. "Yep. According to what their files say, those Winchester brothers are as cocky as they come. The Feds'll be here in an hour to take 'em off our hands. And this time, we better keep a firm hold of 'em 'til they get here. They got a record of breaking out a mile long."

"Yeah," Braeden agreed. "We don't want to get a bad rep as the ones who let 'em get away. And—" He broke off as another detective rushed in and said, "There were gunshots reported on Main and Ivy. Anonymous call from a pay phone."

The two men stood up. The younger man eyed Edwards, uncertain of his orders. "What are you waiting for, Braeden," the sheriff said as he rounded his desk. "Let's go."

"Yes, sir," the detective replied.

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Seven hours later…

Ben sat in the dark interior of his Chevy and contemplated what he had done. Letting wanted criminals go, that was a capital crime. For sure, he'd go to jail if they ever found out. But you know what? He didn't care. The Winchesters were the good guys. He'd felt it when he'd met them all those years ago, when they'd saved him. He smiled. He was satisfied with what he'd done. It was totally worth the fiasco it had caused up at the station.

Ben's thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of his phone. He looked at the screen. Unlisted number. He frowned. "Hello?"

"_Thanks for the paperclip and for clearing the station, kid."_

Ben's breath caught in his throat. "No problem, Dean. I owed you one. You saved my life, I saved yours. That's all there is to it."

There was a pause. _"What do you remember from back then?"_

"Every minute of it. You helped us. You're heroes, not criminals. People who don't know can't understand. Just…keep fighting all the changelings and all that evil shit out there and I'll do my part with the usual run-of-the-mill human evil." He smiled. "Deal?"

A chuckle was heard over the line. _"Deal." _There was another pause. _"Hey, so how'd you do it? Plan the escape?"_

Ben grinned. "Oh, I don't know. Planning the escape of wanted criminals is a pretty severe crime. If I tell you, that'll make you an accomplice."

Dean gave a deep-throated laugh. _"You are one helluva kid, Ben. Thanks again. And take care of yourself and your mom, okay?"_

Ben smiled. "Okay. Will do. You take care of yourselves, too. And a word of advice: stop using rock aliases. You'll get caught."

"_You sound like my brother,"_ Dean grumbled. Ben could hear the other man ask Dean a question in the background. _"Nothin', bitch,"_ he answered.

Ben stifled a laugh. "Alright. So, uh, bye?"

"_Bye. Good luck, kid,"_ Dean answered. They hung up.

Ben sat for a while longer, staring at the now quiet phone in his hand. He sighed as he dialed another number.

"Hey, Katie. Thanks for making the anonymous call…Yeah, it worked…I'll tell you when I get there, okay?...Yes, I'll bring it, you ice cream junkie. Later."

He hung up and started his car. Helping the Winchesters escape? That was totally his good deed of the day.

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AN: Yes, Katie is the freaky "I want ice cream" changeling girl. Kudos to you if you noticed.


End file.
